HE that will not love must be
My scholar, and learn this of me :
There be in love as many fears
As the summer's corn has ears :
Sighs, and sobs, and sorrows more
Than the sand that makes the shore :
Freezing cold and fiery heats,
Fainting swoons and deadly sweats ;
Now an ague, then a fever,
Both tormenting lovers ever.
Would'st thou know, besides all these,
How hard a woman 'tis to please,
How cross, how sullen, and how soon
She shifts and changes like the moon.
How false, how hollow she's in heart :
And how she is her own least part :
How high she's priz'd, and worth but small :
Little thou't love, or not at all.